


Short Horror Stories

by PurpleTurpleToast



Category: Short Horror Stories
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, ETC!, Gen, Insanity, Murder, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 03:12:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleTurpleToast/pseuds/PurpleTurpleToast
Summary: Many short horror stories I have written over time - also found on Quotev.





	1. The Sad Man

      
    Everyone knows or has heard of someone who has seen the Sad Man. People describe him as best they can, but no one has a picture of him, or a drawing. He’s rumored to have a smile stapled onto his face, showing his teeth and gums. The staples are bloody, and he’s always crying. No one knows whether or not it’s from pain or grief.  
    Another thing everyone knows; if you even get a glimpse of him, you’re dead. You can’t avoid him, he’s always following, always watching. Even if you don’t see him, you’ll sense him. Your neck hairs will raise, goose bumps covering your whole body. You can never sleep, and scenes of depressing times always run through your mind, never your own.  
    The sad man always chooses the happy people, the people who rarely cry and always grin without hiding their emotions behind it. Sadly, I’m one of those people. I’m also one of the few and far people who don’t believe in the Sad Man. I think he was made up to trick kids into not always showing their emotions. But those are my thoughts.      
                                            I was wrong.  
    ♢♦♢♦♢  
    Currently, I’m watching a comedy movie, laughing my ass off with my friends. One of my friends, Austin, falls off the couch and lands on his face, sitting up slowly and laughing so hard tears roll down his face and he can barely breath. He snorts for like a minute in a row, making us laugh even harder.  
    I can’t even try to control myself, and go limp. I slip off the couch, holding my stomach and curling into a ball. I gasp for breath, still laughing. Austin starts choking on air, while I finally start to calm down. I intake a sharp breath when my parents step into the room, their faces blank.  
    “Adira, calm yourself.” My father says, no emotion in his words. My mother gives a disapproving stare to my group of friends, but keeps her face blank. I sigh, before forcing myself to create a blank mask on my face. I stare at them, hiding my emotions. I hear my friends do the same behind me, all of them knowing they’ll get in trouble at their home.  
    “Be good, children.” My parents say impassively, then they turn and walk away. I roll my eyes unnoticeably, then turn to my friends. With my blank, emotionless face still ‘on’, I walk to the door and open it.  
    “Goodbye. I will see you during school study hall.” I say blandly. They all nod once as they walk out in a single file line. I watch out after them, a faint smile appearing on my lips. I see a movement in the trees, noticing a person standing from the bushes.  
    My back goes rigid, an ache spreading through my eyes. It’s like my eye is metal and the person is a magnet. My eyes feel like they’re getting dragged to look at the person. The person, a man, is tall. At least six feet tall. I shiver, a pale glossy pair of eyes making eye contact with my own hazel eyes.  
    Tears fill my eyes when an image of a young girl, only ten or so, ties a rope to a tree. She ties a noose, then puts it around her neck. She jumps off the branch, a pink dress flittering in the wind. In the background, you can hear her parents screaming for her.  
    I let out a sob, my mind feeling wrenched away from the weird scene. My eyes stay on the man’s face as he steps out onto the sidewalk. I cry silently, as if my voice box is gone. I try to stop the tears from running down my face, but they multiply in numbers.      
    His face is okay on it’s own, minus all of the staples and the scars. The cuts where he had tried to get rid of the metal pieces. I whimper, making my throat burn as if it’s on fire. His mouth is stapled as far as it could stretch, then skin surgically removed. I see the marks from across the road. His eyes are stapled open, but he can blink, I think, it would just be immensely painful. Whoever did this obviously tried to make him look happy.  
    His eyes are clouded over, with thick veins spreading across them. I wince when he blinks, and I swear I hear the skin tearing. Blood drips down into his eyes, making his sclera bright red. His tears of discomfort roll down his cheeks and into his ruined mouth. The tears mixed with the blood, though I could barely tell from here.      
    I blink, shivering.  
    When I open my eyes again, I fall backwards into my house with a whimper and yelp. He was right in front of me. I feel his hand grab my chin, so gently. I close my eyes, feeling numbness flooding through me. I look into his eyes.  
    Then I’m gone.  
    ♢♦♢♦♢  
    It’s been two weeks. I always know he’s there. Watching, watching, waiting. I never talk to anyone, it feels like I’m trapped in a dark box, so dark I can’t see my hand even when it’s touching my eyelashes. I feel completely, utterly alone. I feel betrayed by everyone. They avoid me like the plague.  
    Slipping into depression, which I’m now stuck in,  feels like falling down a dark bottomless shaft, and I’m wondering if and when my fall will ever be caught. When I have enough strength to even dare, I look back to where I fell from, which is where I know I need to get back to, and I can see it fleeting further into the distance, the light becoming dimmer and dimmer, while the pit into which I’m are falling becomes deeper, darker, and all the more enveloping every single day.  
    Depression to me is like having your mind replaced by another one that makes me feel worthless and numb to life, even to my own family. It deprives me of feeling anything other than a sense of never ending sadness, never quite knowing the source of it but knowing that feeling well. My only companion. Depression stole my confidence a few days ago, and now I no longer feel I am worthy of even living. Depression calls me names and makes me have awful thoughts, and there have been times when depression has won and I’ve thought of committing suicide.  
    It’s like drowning, but everyone around me is breathing just fine. And no matter how much I struggle, no one can hear or see me. I’m invisible. I’m just a ghost, separate from the world my friends and family are in. I even think they don’t love me anymore, the looks they give me.  
    The Sad Man is beside me. He seems to know what it’s like. Maybe that’s why they ruined him. I turn, looking at him. I look into his eyes, which have grown darker the more he’s around me. His brown hair is messy and choppy, like he tried to cut it himself, with baby scissors. I stare at him blankly, not even trying to pull my act and smile, though it never reached my eyes.  
    “Adira,” The Sad Man whispers, reaching out and touching my arm. I don’t jerk away, I don’t even flinch. He’s stuck like this forever. He’s already dead, he’s a ghost. He can’t move on.  
Depression is a hellish feeling. Nothing tastes right, smells right, or feels right and I’m not even able to think or make decisions, yet I still have to carry on doing all those things. For nothing.  And so much of the time I just don’t have the energy or the desire. But still, I carry on anyway. I don’t know why. Maybe for my friends.  
    “Adira,” The Sad Man murmurs repeatedly. I keep staring at him, no emotion but grief on my shallow face. I’ve barely eaten, my appetite diminishing the farther I sink into the pit. I’ve tried being happy. The first few days I fought to stay as happy as I could, but it was impossible.  
    So I decide to ask the Sad Man his name. It’s not a very good idea, but my curiosity is starting to gain, just barely worming into my mind. Fighting tooth and nail through the depression until I finally had it in my grasp, then I held onto that one question like it’s my lifeline. Maybe it is.  
    “Sad Man,” I whisper brokenly, my voice hoarse from the lack of use and water. He looks at me, his eyes even more broken than when I first saw him. “will you tell me your name?” I ask decrepitly. He looks at me with despair. He takes quite a few minutes, like searching through the darkest places of his mind.  
    “Silas.” He murmurs, his eyes darkening so they’re nearly a black blue. Then he launches into a small story, entrapping me with his words. “I was born sometime in the middle 1800's... I don’t know when. Before the 1900's, though. I was born in a small home, with at least twelve other siblings. I was always alone, and being the youngest was the weakest and last chosen for anything. Then, around the age of marriage for that time, I seemed to fall into a black abyss. I felt like I was mourning the death of someone I once loved—myself.  
    “When I looked into the dirty mirror I remember only seeing dead eyes. There was no spark. No joy. No hope. I remember wondering how I would manage to exist another day. It made me feel like I was a tiny seed stuck at the bottom of a pot plant—the more I tried to grow and break free, the more dirt and soil fell on me, suffocating me and pushing me down. No one understood, they all thought I was being a liar.  
    “Depression was, and is, that disgusting voice in my head that says things like “your mother never wanted you and that’s why she kicked you out at only 16 to sleep on the streets for nearly a year to make you learn”. It showed, and still does, me the mental picture of the benches I made my bed and the nooks and crannies I tried to hide in for fear of being murdered. I had no valuables, but no one but myself knew that. The voice also reminds me of my younger sister dying in my arms, staining me with her blood, and thrusting her picture in my face telling me I’m a horrible brother. Depression for me is a force so powerful that I fear I may never be free of it.” Silas stops, his teeth clanking shut. He grabs a small worn piece of paper from his pocket, then unfolds it. He seems to hold in a sob as he looks at it, then gently places it in my hand.  
    The image of a young boy, only around my age, holding a dying girl in his arms while he wails enters my mind. I shudder and shake, trying to get free of it. After a few moments pass, it finally leaves. The girl was only around six. I shudder one more time, then look at the picture.  
    The girl was dark colored hair and pale skin from what I can tell. She had a huge smile, her dimples showing in each cheek. I stare blankly, trying to force a smile onto my face. If I had seen this before, I would have grinned, then laughed at how adorable she is. Was. Now, it’s like happiness is miles away, and racing as fast as it can while I’m dragging myself towards it with a ton of weight on each of my legs, chains leading to giant lead bricks.  
    “She died in your arms...” I whisper, retreating farther into myself, into grief. Then, Silas is gone, and I hear a voice from far away.  
    “Honey, who are you talking to? And why are you...down here?” I look up from my hands, seeing nothing there. I look around in confusion, noticing I’m not in my room. I’m in the basement. I...I don’t even remember getting down here.    
    “I ...” I trail off, forcing a smile onto my face. “You found me,” I fake exclaim, throwing my arms into the air. She doesn’t notice how my smile refuses to reach my eyes. My eyes are still dull, like they have been from the first time I looked into the eyes of the Sad Man. Silas.

    ♢♦♢♦♢

    Teen Girl Commits Suicide

        Adira Kaeyls killed herself approximately a month after the  
        sighting of The Sad Man. She was seen holding hands  
        with a figure, and a picture was taken. She hanged herself  
        shortly after, on a large oak many have committed suicide  
        on. The only difference is that she hanged herself from  
        one of the highest branches, not the most used ones.  
                          
        Take care everyone, watch out for the Sad man.  
        CDBNews.Com

    ♢♦♢♦♢

    “Pfft, yeah, sure.” I say sarcastically. She probably hung herself because her boyfriend broke up with her or something. Drama queens. I get up from my computer desk, then turn to go to my room, only to nearly touch my nose to another persons face. The Sad Man.


	2. Melody

Melody had been gone for months. Five of them, to be exact, five months, two weeks, and three days. Her father endlessly searches for her, while her mother stays shut in the house. Her neighbors help too, even the old Elvin Grenk, who has to use a wheelchair.  
She was smart, but was always awkward around new people, not knowing exactly what to say or when to say it, but she tried her best to be open minded and nice to people, which is why everyone loved the teen so much.  She always offered strangers and enw neighbors to play baseball with her, or watch one of her games.  
    Melody was the socially awkward sweetheart of the neighborhood. She rarely did anything wrong, and was nice and respectful to everyone. Her laugh always filled the streets, making everyone’s spirits raise higher.  
    Her long brightly dyed hair made her different from all of the other girls in the small country town. She wore what she wanted, usually skinny jeans and T-shirts that reached halfway down her thighs.  
    Her light brown eyes were always filled with joy. Used to. Before she was taken by someone she knew for so long…

    Melody wakes up, again. She lost track of the time. The trees surrounding the place she’s stuck in.  The cement walls are covered in blood where her head was hit against again and again. She blacked out after the fifth time of her head being hit against the wall.  
Her purple hair is now brown at the roots, for at least three inches, and painted red and dark brown from the blood matted into the strands. Her nails are broken, blood dried around and on them. She has cuts on her arms, legs, stomach, and blood flows from her split, cracked lips.  
Whip wounds criss cross over her back, the back of her shirt nonexistent. The blood is dried, scabs covering very few of the lashes.  Melody shivers, the basement windows broken, letting the cold, harsh, wind in.  
“Mommy, Mommy, mommy…” Melody wails, seeking the comfort of her closest family member.

Months pass of the mental torture, and the physical torture. Beaten, whipped, starved, dehydrated. Her head pushed under nearly boiling water repeatedly, the times in between when her head is pulled out allowing her just enough of a breath to keep from blacking out. Her family gives up after more than a year and a half.  
Melody is still there, getting worse and worse every day. She doesn’t even remember when the voices began. She laughs out loud, the walls echoing it back. It’s the shell of what it used to be. Empty, non feeling, insane. It’s eerie, sending chills up anyone’s spine, even animals. Nothing goes near ear shot of the small shack.  
Her kidnapper is waiting until the final roots of insanity plant themselves in her mind. Soon. Very soon. He can feel it. He already has. He’s waited a few extra days, just to make sure.  
He walks down the stairs, the key in his hand. The girl he watched grow up doesn’t move, expect to twitch, her muscles quivering.  
“I have a present…” He whispers, even that small sounds reverberating from the walls. The girl shivers,  The voices in her head screaming, overlapping each other.  
Kill ---Maim---cut---stitch---slash---whip HIM--- Reve---KILL---Revenge!   
The man sneaks closer, the whip glinting from the still-wet blood dripping from it. He raises his arm, ready to bring the whip down with brute force. The girl is gone, however, and he hits the concrete floor.  
He feels a sharp, shooting, fiery pain in his leg, making his cry out, falling to his knees. He looks down,  spotting blood flowing down his leg. The girl is behind him, raising the bat with nails in it… All of her anger forced into this one blow…

Two months later-

“Everyone, if you are hearing this over the radio, or watching this on your living room television, stay inside, lock everything! Your doors, your windows, every single thing! Be safe! Sleep in the same room as everyone else, do not go places alone! There has been numerous murders all throughout the state of Oregon, all with the same weapon and in the same fashion. Please---”

    I let out a huff, turning the sound on the radio down, the slight static in it annoying me. I look at the screen, scrolling through the stations. The trees all around the dirt road I’m driving down casts shadows everywhere. I glance up, and gasp in horror, jerking the wheel of my truck to the side, my tires screeching. I slump forward like a ragdoll, my forehead hitting the steering wheel.  
I look to the side, my eyesight blurry, my vision turning red, black dots appearing in clumps. I blink repeatedly, fumbling with the door handle, my ears ringing. I open the door, nearly falling out, but the buckle keeps me in place. I press down on the red button, tumbling to the ground.  
Step. Thunnnnnk…  
Step. Thunnnnnk...  
Step. Thunnnnnk…  
A dragging noise follows the steps, like nails against concrete, but all I see is a blurry figure of a bloodied teen, her shirt two times her size, it seems. The short sleeves flow to her elbows, the neck below her protruding collar bone.  
The chunk of wood with nails hammered into it swings towards me, making a whistling noise.  
My vision abruptly goes black, pain barely registering, yet it feels like my face was set on fire. I scream, or try to, but it’s muted by my lack of breath, just sounding like a gasp. The trees that surround me seem to claw at me, the shadows racing towards me, turning into monsters steps away.  
My world swirls, blackening, before I’m gone, not breathing, completely still, my eyes unblinking.


	3. Melody

Melody had been gone for months. Five of them, to be exact, five months, two weeks, and three days. Her father endlessly searches for her, while her mother stays shut in the house. Her neighbors help too, even the old Elvin Grenk, who has to use a wheelchair.  
She was smart, but was always awkward around new people, not knowing exactly what to say or when to say it, but she tried her best to be open minded and nice to people, which is why everyone loved the teen so much.  She always offered strangers and enw neighbors to play baseball with her, or watch one of her games.  
    Melody was the socially awkward sweetheart of the neighborhood. She rarely did anything wrong, and was nice and respectful to everyone. Her laugh always filled the streets, making everyone’s spirits raise higher.  
    Her long brightly dyed hair made her different from all of the other girls in the small country town. She wore what she wanted, usually skinny jeans and T-shirts that reached halfway down her thighs.  
    Her light brown eyes were always filled with joy. Used to. Before she was taken by someone she knew for so long…

    Melody wakes up, again. She lost track of the time. The trees surrounding the place she’s stuck in.  The cement walls are covered in blood where her head was hit against again and again. She blacked out after the fifth time of her head being hit against the wall.  
Her purple hair is now brown at the roots, for at least three inches, and painted red and dark brown from the blood matted into the strands. Her nails are broken, blood dried around and on them. She has cuts on her arms, legs, stomach, and blood flows from her split, cracked lips.  
Whip wounds criss cross over her back, the back of her shirt nonexistent. The blood is dried, scabs covering very few of the lashes.  Melody shivers, the basement windows broken, letting the cold, harsh, wind in.  
“Mommy, Mommy, mommy…” Melody wails, seeking the comfort of her closest family member.

Months pass of the mental torture, and the physical torture. Beaten, whipped, starved, dehydrated. Her head pushed under nearly boiling water repeatedly, the times in between when her head is pulled out allowing her just enough of a breath to keep from blacking out. Her family gives up after more than a year and a half.  
Melody is still there, getting worse and worse every day. She doesn’t even remember when the voices began. She laughs out loud, the walls echoing it back. It’s the shell of what it used to be. Empty, non feeling, insane. It’s eerie, sending chills up anyone’s spine, even animals. Nothing goes near ear shot of the small shack.  
Her kidnapper is waiting until the final roots of insanity plant themselves in her mind. Soon. Very soon. He can feel it. He already has. He’s waited a few extra days, just to make sure.  
He walks down the stairs, the key in his hand. The girl he watched grow up doesn’t move, expect to twitch, her muscles quivering.  
“I have a present…” He whispers, even that small sounds reverberating from the walls. The girl shivers,  The voices in her head screaming, overlapping each other.  
Kill ---Maim---cut---stitch---slash---whip HIM--- Reve---KILL---Revenge!   
The man sneaks closer, the whip glinting from the still-wet blood dripping from it. He raises his arm, ready to bring the whip down with brute force. The girl is gone, however, and he hits the concrete floor.  
He feels a sharp, shooting, fiery pain in his leg, making his cry out, falling to his knees. He looks down,  spotting blood flowing down his leg. The girl is behind him, raising the bat with nails in it… All of her anger forced into this one blow…

Two months later-

“Everyone, if you are hearing this over the radio, or watching this on your living room television, stay inside, lock everything! Your doors, your windows, every single thing! Be safe! Sleep in the same room as everyone else, do not go places alone! There has been numerous murders all throughout the state of Oregon, all with the same weapon and in the same fashion. Please---”

    I let out a huff, turning the sound on the radio down, the slight static in it annoying me. I look at the screen, scrolling through the stations. The trees all around the dirt road I’m driving down casts shadows everywhere. I glance up, and gasp in horror, jerking the wheel of my truck to the side, my tires screeching. I slump forward like a ragdoll, my forehead hitting the steering wheel.  
I look to the side, my eyesight blurry, my vision turning red, black dots appearing in clumps. I blink repeatedly, fumbling with the door handle, my ears ringing. I open the door, nearly falling out, but the buckle keeps me in place. I press down on the red button, tumbling to the ground.  
Step. Thunnnnnk…  
Step. Thunnnnnk...  
Step. Thunnnnnk…  
A dragging noise follows the steps, like nails against concrete, but all I see is a blurry figure of a bloodied teen, her shirt two times her size, it seems. The short sleeves flow to her elbows, the neck below her protruding collar bone.  
The chunk of wood with nails hammered into it swings towards me, making a whistling noise.  
My vision abruptly goes black, pain barely registering, yet it feels like my face was set on fire. I scream, or try to, but it’s muted by my lack of breath, just sounding like a gasp. The trees that surround me seem to claw at me, the shadows racing towards me, turning into monsters steps away.  
My world swirls, blackening, before I’m gone, not breathing, completely still, my eyes unblinking.


	4. Eva

    Eva was walking, before. Of course, she was alone. She did have friends, why wouldn’t she? She had the looks, the money, and smarts to get as many friends as she wanted, and anything she wanted. That doesn’t mean she did, though. Maybe now she regrets it. She’s been through Hell and back, pretty much.

    Eva is walking, again. Her left eye is covered by a cloth wrapped crudely around her head. Bruises cover her neck, showing where a rope chaffed her skin and fingers were wrapped around her throat to choke her. Similar bruises wrap around her wrists, rope burns blistering and oozing. Her ankles are swollen and bright red, but she walks on them as if not feeling the pain.  
    Eva, despite all the pain, the blood covering her from head to toe, and a few broken fingers, keeps walking. Of course she is, why would she not? She just managed to get away, and murder the three men who had done this to her. One, she stabbed him through the eye socket with a screwdriver as far as the handle. Another, she clamped the cuffs around his wrists and throw acid on him, which they were saving for her.  
    The last one, she had some fun with. Her version of fun changed, mind you. Now her fun is ruining peoples lives by torturing them. She drugged him, knocking him out for nearly two days. During those ‘nearly’ two days, she tended to her own wounds. She wrapped gauze around her head, then tapped it to make it stay. She put salve on her rope burns, only the worst ones, and quickly ran out. Then, she waited.  
    When he finally awoke, she grabbed the hammer he had used on her, and crushed each and every one of his fingers. His bones were nothing compared to her fury. He wailed and screeched, like he was dying, but he was far from it. Next, she had taken the screwdriver from the first mans eye, and slowly slid it into the last mans. It went through his pupil, rendering his right eye useless.  
    His screams made her falter, as if just noticing what she was doing. He started pleading, mistaking her falter for weakness. “Maybe I can kill her once and for all,” He had thought. But he had never, ever been more wrong. Her falter was from the immense joy she felt so suddenly, seeing blood and tears mix together.  
    She could nearly touch the fear in the air, so thick it was nearly choking her. Her eyes had flashed with anger, then stayed there for so long the man wept just from that. She had been tortured for so long, long enough for fall to turn into winter then spring, then summer, and was so hopeless. Now it was his turn, to feel hopeless.  
    She had tortured him for days, learning new ways, until he finally died of blood loss. Nearly two weeks, he had been tortured. The thought made her smile. His body was left a mangles mess, his skull missing part of it and showing a bloodied brain mash, his boned nearly all beaten into dust, his face smashed in, his stomach thin with his ribs protruding. The blood covered the walls, with random thoughts that ran through Eva’s head at that time.  
    “So fun!” “Scream, Scream louder!” “This is my favorite shade of red!” “This is what you deserve!” “Die! DIE ALREADY!”  
    And so on. But, back to the walking. It pains Eva, yes, but not as much as the countless separate horrors she felt. So she stayed quiet. Her mouth closed, her chin held straight, her hands drooping down limply at her sides. The bloodied hammer hangs loosely in her hand, the handle still slippery and dripping blood. It shimmers in the sunlight, drawing her attention to it.  
    Eva smiles, but her face remains the same, devoid of emotion. Nothing shimmers in her brown eyes. They’re dull, like everything joyous was wrenched from her life. But, it was. That one, late night walk. If only she hadn’t been so naive, maybe she could have kept her life the way it was.  
    But, she needed air. That was her excuse to leave. Such a petty girl, storming away from a huge party of her twin sisters. Her twin sister was always better than her, she had thought. Now, she hates her. The party was celebrating her perfect grades of A pluses. Eva had gotten one B. Just one, and she was cast aside. Her twin was celebrated, called a genius. Eva had stayed up all night helping here sister, and had failed a test because she put her sister first.  
    No one cared to listen to her explanation. They called her liars behind her back, even her parents. Ava had never said what happened. Eva grit her teeth, being tortured mentally as well as physically those months. She was alone in a small room if she wasn’t being tormented.  
    She grew to hate the one person who would always be grieving for her. Now, Eva clenched the hammer tighter, realizing where she was at last. She was just a few blocks away from her own home. A few blocks away on the side walk, then in the property of a family that owned at least seventeen acres. Her age, if she remembered right.  
    Maybe she’s eighteen now. She forgot. She can barely remember anything, only the new ways she can torture people, and her anger towards her sister. The person who was always supposed to be there.  
    “When you fall, I’ll catch you,” Ava had said, her heart over her chest. Eva had done the same, then they took turns falling into the others arms. For more than ten years they went by that pact. Then it broke so suddenly, like frail china or thin glass. Now, Eva has a new purpose.  
    Spotting her house, an ugly shade of brown she grew to love, Eva grins again, a Chelsea grin. An insane one. Inhuman. Eva grips her hammer tighter, her knuckles white, her broken fingers cracking and popping into weird angles. She doesn’t even register anything, her mind is so far polluted with hatred and anger. And the torture, oh the suffering.  
    The house looms over her the closer she gets, the sun directly in her eyes, yet she doesn’t seem to notice. She does notice, however, the balloons. The party posters. The ribbons everywhere.  
    “HAPPY BIRTHDAY AVA!!”, sports a huge banner, strewn across the top of the porch. Eva grows tense with anger so hot, if anyone were to just look at her they would burn. She stumbles up the steps, then into the front room. The party being held stops in less than a second. Ava, who was opening presents with a smile on her beautiful face, goes still, not even breathing. Then, she leaps up. “Eva!” She screams, running at her twin. Everyone stares with wide eyes at the reunion.    
    The next second, chaos ensues.  
            “Oh my god! Ava! Where did you get that hammer?! Get away from your sister! No, Stop!”  
     Screams echo into the neighborhood for hours as she tortures everyone who was there, everyone in the area does nothing, having seen Eva in her state, staring directly at the sun blankly with an insane Cheshire grin.  
    They watch through curtained windows when she walks out, covered in even more blood, the pink words on her white shirt barely visible. “Little Ray of Sunshine.” She looks around, noticing not a single person visible.  
    Then, she grins even wider. The hammer by her side glistens in the fading sun.


	5. Mirror Mimics

    I’m the stereotype of a rich teen girl. I live in a three-story house, I’m an only child, I’m what people call; ‘spoiled, narcissistic and self-centered’, and I love looking in the mirror, and I do it often, it’s my obsession,  and wearing make-up. I have straight blond hair, but I keep it to my hips in an even line all across. I have the newest and best phone, always. I also drive myself to school in a bright red Convertible.  
    Right now, I’m staring at myself in the mirror, for the fourth hour in a row, applying the fourth layer of bright red lipstick. I have always thought myself as beautiful, no matter what. I just smile at everyone who glares at me in envy. They don’t get me, noone does. I have fine features, with a normal sized mouth with full thick lips, which I always make sure to draw attention to. My eyes are a baby blue, with golden brown around my pupil and flecks of dark gray in the irises. My nose is straight, thin and delicate, like a porcelain dolls.  
    I have strong full legs, but not fat ones, with a flat stomach and big boobs that grew all on their own. I wear low-cut shirts, because they make me feel good. Confident. I never wear very tall high heels, mainly the two and a half to three inch boot heels. Pencil stick heels are my favorite.  
    “Hurry up, Faye. The party starts in like twenty minutes, plus everyone is already there!” My friend, Bella, says walking into the bathroom. She shuts up quickly, looking over my dark red tight fitting dress, a few inches above my finger tips and showing off most of my cleavage, to my bright blond curled hair cascading down my back. She looks at my make-up, bold and daring. The eyeshadow that I spent my time on fades out from dark grey to light grey, making it look like smoke.  
    She grins, before twirling slightly. She went for a school girl look, with a see through white button up shirt and a red tie, matching her red bra, the tie loosened and the top four buttons undone, with a short dark blue skirt maybe five or so inches long. She’s wearing black knee socks, and black flats with navy blue bows on them. Her hair is in loose ponytails below her ears, curled to perfection and stopping halfway down her stomach.  
    “You look great,” I say reassuringly to her, noticing the nervousness of my judgement in her eyes. She smiles again, showing off even, white piercing teeth.  
    “So do you, now let’s go.” She grabs my hand, whisking me away from the bathroom and we rush downstairs. My parents are on a cruise in the Caribbean, so I don’t have to sneak out for a couple more weeks.  
    We sit in the car, our purses filled with makeup, but leaving the valuable stuff in my room in my dresser. As I pull out in my Convertible, I repeatedly look at myself in the side mirror, getting more and more pleased the longer I look at myself. I speed the whole way to the party, which is at my seventh boyfriends house that’s quite a few miles away.  
    I swerve into the garage space he saved for me, my music blaring. I heard the parties music, dubstep and the random songs mixed into it, from a few blocks away. My heart thumps excitedly, making me shake with joy as I turn the car off, then stash the keys in the little bag of my tampons. I shove the bag back into my purse and throw open the door the same time Bella does, and we both flounce to the door, moving our hips to the side a little more than we should, and hurrying from impatience. Bella opens the door, pushing on it as hard as she can to move the drunks around it.  
    All around us, beautiful girls go careening into the bathrooms in order to vomit. There are loud fist fights over girls and yelling of cuss words. The smell of stale beer, making the air seem thick. Bella moves into the crowd, moving her body provocatively to the music as she sashays towards a group of boys drinking beers. I notice a large group of girls standing in a small crowd, evaluating the very drunk  boys. The sweet smell of weed permeates the air.  
    I wrinkle my nose slightly, then dive into the crowd and push people aside when I spot the familiar short pompadour haircut that belongs to the one and only David Levi Skott. I wrap my arms around his waist, smiling when he turns and smacks his lips onto my own. He moves his hands down to my hips, making me squeak slightly. I jump nearly three feet when I hear a loud cough.  
    I turn my face to the side, only to see David staring at me, frowning. I let my mouth sag, pushing away from the guy I was just making out with.  
    “David, I thought that was you,” I try to explain desperately. He frowns more, shaking his head. “David, please, I forgot you had your haircut yesterday,” I croon feebly. I feel my spirit fade away a little when he starts going upstairs to the spare room, which I’ve taken as my own when I’m over and I’m not able to sneak into his.  
    I follow him, stepping quickly with my shoulders slumped. He walks into the room, moving the nearly naked couple out, and opens the window. I wonder what he’s doing when he grabs a few of my things and throws them out the window. I gasp and grab his arm, trying to pull him back, but he wrenches his arm away, hitting me in the process. I gasp as the stinging pain flares up the left side of my face, reeling back.  
    “David, stop!” I screech in protest. He ignores me, and starts throwing my possessions with more force. He grabs my favorite mirror and tosses it carelessly out. I shriek and race down stairs, not hearing the thuds of my belongings as they hit the driveway.  I push through the crowd, feeling sudden claustrophobia. I fight, and I slap a few people to get them out of my way.  
    By the time I get to the door, I’m sweaty and breathing heavily. I fumble the doorknob a few times, before managing to throw it open. I remember Bella, and turn to call her name, but see her with a bottle of alcohol in her hand, french kissing some random guy. I sigh, my shoulders slumping even more, before rushing outside. I see a huge pile of my stuff, and let out a defeated whimper.  
    My clothes are ripped, my mirrors shattered, my make up scattered as girls fight over pieces like wild animals. “That’s all mine! Get the hell away from it!” I scream angrily at them, stomping over. They scatter. I take one more step, falling onto the shattered pieces of my reflection. Slivers of the mirror digging into my hand and knees.  
    I look down at my broken high heel, the pencil thin heel broken and hanging by a few threads. Tears drip down my face, ruining the make up I spent hours on. I look back down at the broken mirror, broken shards everywhere. I gasp when I look at my face, the cracks ruining how beautiful I am.  
    “No, no, no, no...” I murmur, pushing myself up, the shards digging deeper. I grab my make up bag, unzipping it with shaky hands. I wipe away the black tears from my face, my eyeliner and mascara running. I stare at the mirror shard, fixing myself the best I can.  
    When I finish, I look the same as before. Even better. I smile shakily, looking at myself even more. I see flaws I’ve never seen before. I suddenly hear the voices of people from my school, my friends.  
    ‘She’s such a slut.’  
    ‘I bet you twenty dollars I can fuck her within two days of dating.’  
    ‘Yeah, I’ll take that bet. I bet within one day.’  
    Was that David?  
    ‘That slut.’  
    ‘Whore’.  
    ‘Tramp.’  
    ‘Harlot.’  
    ‘Bitch. ‘  
      
    She must look hideous if she wears that much makeup.

    “No. I’m beautiful. I’m better than you all!” I screech, Starting to cry again. “Stop it. Shut up. Shut up, Shut up, Shut up! I’m better then all of you! You envy me! You assholes! You liars!” I scream to no one.  
    I stand, barely registering the pain in my hands and knees. I stumble inside, murmuring for the voices to stop. They keep repeating the same things. Over...and over...over...and over... “David,” I call brokenly. “David?” I call, my voice breaking. The people around me give me looks, like I’m insane. Their eyes widened, their faces blank. Not frowning...not smiling...  
    I see it. They don’t hate me. They are...scared of me. But why? I feel a feeling inside me, and I sear I feel the crack in my head when something happens. I can’t explain it, but... I want them to be scared of me. I spot David leading some brunette upstairs, and my heart stops when I realize it’s Bella. She’s not even drunk, she’s moving with purpose. I’ve seen her drunk, she’s vicious. She was never drunk. Did they do this together? Was David cheating on me with Bella?  
    My heart stops in betrayal. I turn and walk back through the crowd, smiling at their horrified looks and fear, the strong intangible feeling. I breath it in, not noticing the stench of weed and beer. I limp out, and to my car. I glance at the mess, noticing the girls watching from a few yards away. I pick up the biggest shard of glass, and get in my car.  
    I back up, then start speeding home.  
    ★☆★☆  
    After a few minutes, I look down at my phone, watching the notifications swarm in. I hear a shriek then crash into something, then thumping. I jerk the wheel to the right, gasping when I notice the child on the ground, a ball rolling across the road. I slam on the brakes, then I throw open the door, rushing to him.  
    I feel it snap again, and I slow. I lift the mirror above his eyes, feeling that he’s still alive. Weakly, they open their eyes, their breathing labored and feeble.  
    “Do you see it yet? The beauty of fear?” I whisper in his ear. He lets out a small, airy moan of pain, not having enough strength to even move his eyes. He’s stuck looking up at his own pained, horrified face as he dies. I snap again, feeling....pleased.  
    “Oh god! Charles, call 911! My baby! Get away from him!” I look up from his face, the grin that appeared of my face not fading. The woman is young, but not to young to have a kid. I don’t get up, but stay beside him showing him the fear in his eyes, until the police pull me away.  
    I hear insane, bone chilling  laughter, but it takes me a few minutes of sitting in the back of a police car to realize it’s mine. It chills me to the bone, how eerie I sound, but that doesn’t stop me from laughing.  
    When we arrive at the police station, they lead me to a plain room with a table in the middle, and a chair on either side. A huge mirror takes up most of the left wall. I sit on the chair opposite of the mirror, so I can see myself.  
    I grin crazily, looking at my disheveled appearance. It’s even better than my old look. My hair is still curly, but tangled in places, my skin paler and my eyes darker. My eyeliner and mascara made black tears drip down my face and onto my dress.  
    “Ma’am, you ran over a little boy and then watched him die, yet you smile?” an officer asks, sitting down in the chair in front of me.    
    “I let him see his dying moments,” I murmur, still smiling, not looking at the officer. I keep staring at myself in the mirror, knowing on the other side more police watch us. I cock my head to the side. “What a beautiful mirror...” I whisper, trailing off into nothing.  
    The officer seems disturbed, and walks out, glancing over his shoulder at me. I watch him go out of the corner of my eye, not yet removing my gaze from myself. I stand, wrenching my hands out of the handcuffs on the table. Shooting pain flares, then subsides into nothing.  
    I approach the mirror, touching it gently, running my hand over it. I hear the policeman coming back, but I don’t move. I stroke my cheek, watching the mirror mimic me. The door opens, and I hear the safety of a gun click off.  
    I watch in the mirror as the officer aims at me. “If the mirror mimics, then why can’t you mimic the mirror?” I ask quietly, finally looking away and leaving my own gaze. I look into the hazel eyes of the officer.  
    “Ma’am, I need you to move away from that mirror.” He says evenly.  
    “No.” I reply, my voice eerily soft and quiet. He seems disturbed, and a shiver runs down his back. He pulls the trigger without thinking, but misses. It hits the mirror and shatters it, making it explode with an explosion of glass shards.  
    I climb into the room on the other side, grabbing to shards of glass. I run out, and through the halls to the exit. I race into the woods, then run into a river. Knowing they’ll send dogs after me, I walk upstream, losing my scent. It takes hours, but finally I reach the next town over.  
    I, at last, stop, blood dripping down my hands and knees. I stare down at the shards. One of them is big, as long as a machete. The other is an odd shape...but would be perfect for the idea I have... The birds roosting in a tree ass caw, squawk, and cry as my insane, eerie laughter fills the air, echoing in the forest and flowing farther with the wind.    
    I travel onward, still laughing, tears running down my face. What a wonderful idea, I think to myself. Why not a mask, with eyes of mirror glass? I can show everyone the fear. They will all see it. Fear. Fear. Fear. The best feeling I’ve seen on another’s face. Fear, Fear... Fear.    
    Fear is so beautiful...  
      
    ★☆★☆  
    I’ve finally finished it. Such a wonderfully beautiful mask. It’s all thin metal, a perfect rounded oval that covers my whole face, reflecting blurry images. The eye sockets are my favorite. They’re circles of the one way mirror, making it so I can see through but they can’t. It’s taken me so many days. The mask is just plain, so decoration at all. I love it.  
    They match the mask perfectly, melding right into the inside of the mask. I smoothed it all, so it will never scratch my beautiful face. Beautiful. Fear. Beautiful fear. Fear is beautiful. Eyes wide, mouth agape, the shuddering breathes. The intake of air, the scream in my hand as the knife digs deep into their chest, right into their heart.  
    I look down at myself, seeing the clothes I took from my home, the last time I will ever go there again, until I let my parents see the beauty of fear. They’ll love it, I think.  
    Black tights, with a white dress to my knees. The dress is tight around the chest, and covers all of my cleavage. It ends just below the collarbone. The sleeves end a few inches above the elbow. The skirt is slightly puffy, with several layers. To finish the look, I cut my hair to just below my shoulder blades, and decided to keep it plainly straight. I wear pitch black boots halfway up my shins, which are water proof and tie all the way up.    
    Now to show this boy the beauty of fear. David. I smile behind the mask, the metal cool against my warm skin. I walk from the corner of the room, clenching the dagger in my hand tightly. I walk silently over to him, leaning over this face. Sleeping, with a peaceful look on his face. I frown slightly. He should be shown true beauty. Fear. So, so beautiful. Just like me.  
    I slowly clamber onto the bed, just above his stomach. I move myself so he will look straight into my mirrored eyes. I sit on his stomach, with enough force to wake him up. His arms are pinned beneath my legs.  
    “What the hell?— Holy shit, who are you?” He yelps, his gaze trapped looking into my mirrors. I gently caress his cheek, then let out a soft croon. He wiggles and squirms beneath my touch, his pupils dilating. I hear his breathing start to quicken. Now he’s being shown the beauty. But, no one understands the true beauty.  
    They’re arrogant.  
    I never was... I was beautiful, instead. Arrogance is ignoring the beauty of fear. People feared my power, making my beauty rise. Maybe I did, but now I cannot possible deny the most alluring, natural look. Terror. Fear. Horror. Alarm, Panic. Dread. Distress. The knowledge that they are going to die, but looking at the most bewitching of all emotions I have seen.  
    Fear.  
    I slide my dagger from behind me, letting him see it in the light. He starts to quiver, glancing at the sharp weapon, then his gaze is pulled back to my own as if it is magnetized. Well, not my gaze. My mirrors.  
    I press the dagger into his forehead, gently pressing down and making a small cut. I repeat the process many times, until I finish.  
    BEAUTIFUL  
    I smile at my finished work, watching the blood drip down into his eyebrows and face.     He’s crying, now. Fear pouring off of him in strong, intangible waves. I giggle softly, and I see the recognition in his eyes flicker. He must remember how I laugh. How...adorable.I drag the knife down gently, pressing just enough to make the skin rip just enough to bleed a few drops. I end the line over his heart.  
     I lean closer into his face, the smooth bump for my nose touching his. I open my mouth, a smile making my lips tilt upwards. I lick my slightly chapped lips, relishing the dark fear in his bright eyes, clouding them.  
    “Can you see it yet....? The beauty of fear?” I coo softly, keeping my voice gentle. David cries louder, but still softly. I cover his mouth with my black gloved hand, then press the dagger into his chest.  
    He screams into my hand, his back arching in pain. Blood drips out of his mouth slightly, dripping down the sides of his cheeks and onto either sides of his face. He closes his eyes, his scream dying off. I release his mouth, wrenching opening his eyes roughly.  
    “Fear is true beauty,” I growl, pushing in the dagger more,  causing his face, for the last time, to morph into fear and pain as he dies. I smile, getting up. The metal is warmer now, but I don’t mind. I start to laugh, then grab a piece of paper.  
    Pinning it just above his head with a thumbtack, I dip my finger into his chest where I stabbed him, then write a bloody message for the police to see.  
   
    Fear is true beauty  
            -Mirror Mimics


	6. Heather

Log 07:  
    The subject 374's body denied the liquid. Subject 374's heart stopped at 09:38 AM. I need to find a new subject. The rest have all failed me. I will try on a human after the first success.  
      
          
Log 08:  
    The serum almost worked. It somehow stopped the immune system. Each vein was three times the size they were supposed to be. I also feel guilty for the ape. I know I shouldn’t. This is science. There are sacrifices to be made.

Log 09:  
    I found my flaw. The liquid was to thick and took over the blood stream. I will work on thinning it later so it will flow freely with the blood cells. I also need to think of a name for the serum. I think SW-018 will work. Stop-war-2018.  
    Would it?     
          
Log 10:  
    My colleagues think I am a monster! I used the serum on a human infant I took from a home. At least the parents didn’t want the child...did they? No. Stop it, Heather! This is for science! To stop wars!

Log 11:  
    The news has spread the word of the missing infant. I had to use the child! It wouldn’t work if I didn’t! I’m not crazy! Im searching for a way to stop war! Does no one care?! At least the child brought me closer to the serum! I will stop these petty wars!

Log 12:  
    I used the serum on my fellow scientists. They tried to kick me out of the science lab. I’m sure they regret it now. They were all torn apart from the inside. I have one worker now, working beside me. They all failed. My next subject, my worker,  will be the 418th.  
    I said I wouldn’t use it on him. I lied.

 

                          
I look up from the screen, staring at my colleague. He holds a syringe up. It is filled with a yellow liquid, tinted with a disgusting green color. I smile, trying not to show my intentions. He stares into my eyes, then takes a few steps back.  
“Dr. Heather? What are you thinking?” He asks shakily. I think he knows my intentions now.  
“I’m finding a cure.” I say blandly, snaking my arm around his shoulder and jerking the syringe from his hand. He reels back and presses his back against a wall, knocking the ingredients over for my serum.  
I let out an angry screech. All of my hard work! All of it gone! How dare he!  
I rush towards him, screaming a battle cry as I fling my arm towards his chest, hoping to press the serum into his heart. His eyes widen and he smacks my arm away, the syringe falling onto the ground with a loud clink, a small internal fracture in the inside.  
We both jump for it on the metallic floor, but he reaches it first.  
He holds it in front of him defensively, moving towards the exit. I move with him, figuring out how to get it.  
I run straight at him, then football tackle into his stomach.  
   
I feel a slight prick on my necks side, where the main artery is, then pain hits my whole being like a tsunami of bricks.  
I scream and back away from my fellow worker, who’s name I haven’t ever learned, and bang my side against a counter. I spill glass containers filled with various liquids onto the floor, the fumes rising.  
I scream and fumble for anything to stop the pulsating pain, but I can’t. My vision blurs, maknig me trip and fall into the liquid stated chemicals.  
My skin falls off, revealing my bones underneath. I scream and writhe, my clothes begin to be eaten away from the acidic materials.  
I reach up and scream from my new limbs.  
My arms have lengthened, with no hands at the end, but points.  
My whole body aches as if I’m being crushed underneath a large SUV, while being water boarded. My lungs burn as if they are filled with melted ingot.  
I push up with my insect like arms, my only wrist being at least half a foot higher than it used to be, halfway to my elbow. My arms themselves are two times the size of average, my legs also two times the old length.  
As I stand, my back aches so horribly I cry out. I bend over like quadruped. It eases the pain in my body.  
The fellow ex-worker of mine stares in horror as I approach him, his five foot form petite next to my possible thirteen foot form. He kicks his foot out, hitting my jaw, making my neck crack as my head moves upside down.  
My thick, charred black hair falls past my new elbow, a long serphant like tongue rolling out of my mouth as I emit a loud hissing sound. The tongue is a dark violet, reaching to my hairline.  
I plunge my arm into his chest and pierce his heart, then retract it, the heart on the end. I place it in his open mouth, then shriek the loudest I can.     

I lick his heart, and it melts into itself, turning into a charred piece of nothing.

The cure, is it not?  
 I Write above his body. It is the cure...the cure of fear....

 

 

Klog 13;  
hahaahhahahhhehahhhaheahaah  
Ii did itt!1


	7. Tap...Tap...Tap

The boy glances around the room, his brown eyes filled with tears. Yet again, he had a nightmare. His parents had begun to ignore his cries at night, thinking he just wants attention. They are horrible to him, or at least he thinks so.  
    The monster is in his every dream.  
        The monster is his every dream  
    Always hunched over, watching him from the end of his bed, staring at him with pitch black eye sockets, red liquid, like blood, dripping down it’s reptile like face. Always staring, with no eyes at all.Ribs protruding from its chest, all the bones in its human-like, mutant body sticking out as well. It’s back legs are bent in odd angles, bending with two knees instead of only one. The ends of his back legs end in stumps, live hooves. The claws on his front feet, as the boy calls them, are pale white, translucent, and they tap.  
    Tapping the foot board every night, never stopping.  
    Tap. Tap tap tap... tap tap tap tap tap tap!  
    Getting louder and faster every minute, it terrifies the boy. Every single night, plagued by the monster the boy fears, more than anything. More than the shadows that seem to grab him and pull him in, no, those were childish fears.  
    Even the bravest adult would be terrified.  
    Blood drips from its jowls, dripping onto the floor. The pure white skin with dark blue and red veins webbing across, poking out through the paper thin skin.  
    But this night, it is different.

    “Chris,” His mother says from across him. They are all eating dinner at the round table in the dining room. Chris looks up at his mom, tearing his gaze from his peas, with hopeful eyes. “Tonight, me and your dad are going out for a while...” She seems hesitant, and her heart breaks a little when her child starts to sob loudly, rocking in his seat.   
    “No, please no!” He screams. “Please, please don’t leave me, mama!” he screams louder, getting up from his seat and running around, hugging his mom in her chair, burying his face in her stomach as he sobs  
    Lilly looks at her husband for support, only to see Derek with a sad face, slowly shaking his head. So, Lilly carries the boy up to his room, and sets him in the bed. Chris whimpers and hides in the corner, his back pressed against where the two walls meet. Lilly leaves the room, gently closing it behind her. They had planned for weeks, for tonight.  
    Lilly grabs her purse, and leaves with Derek, sitting in the car, watching the rear view mirror as they drive away from their house. Derek and Lilly both have the same bad feeling, but ignore it. They need this.  
    Chris closes his eyes, then snaps them open, hearing the familiar low growling sound, with a painful moan mixed with it. He turns his head towards the foot of the bed, shaking violently.  
    And there, is the monster, whom Chris calls “Tap”. When it steps into the darkness of the room, the pure white skin disappears in less than a second. It appears just as suddenly.  
    The monster gazes at him, then opens its mouth, revealing a pitch black tongue like a snake. It hisses and slowly stands, its nails never leaving the foot board.  
    Tap, tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap tap tap. TAP TAP TAP TAP.    
     The tapping gets so loud that the boy covers his ears and flinches. The beast finally pauses, tilting it’s head slowly to the left. It grins, the tongue peeking through the dark yellow teeth, sharper than a sharks, yet as thin as a cats.  
    The boy yelps as the monster crawls onto the bed, it’s two knees bending. The knees crack and pop as the...thing moves. One backwards, the other forwards. The stomach is so empty, it just looks like nothing is there, only a spine and skin.  
    Chris screams as loud as he can, the monster digging it’s claws into his face. No one hears. There is no one there to hear.  
    It leans into his ear, and in a disgusting, oily, gravely, snake like voice, it utters three words, slowly, in a menacing manner.

    “You. Are. Alone.”

    Those words chill Chris to the bone. The monster licks the blood from his face, making a purring sound. Chris’ heart thumps wildly in his chest. The monster can hear it clearly, relishing the fear.  
    Finally, it stops the teasing.  
    The jaw of the monster pops, the skin sagging down almost two feet. It lets out a guttural growl, scaring Chris farther.  The boy is in so much fright he stays paralyzed, watching as the beast leans closer, the hot breath on his face.  
    The beast starts with his legs, slowly scooping him into his mouth. His hair matts with saliva, his whole form trembling as his eyes almost pop out of his face.  Finally, after minutes of silence in his mouth, the boy’s screams remained muffled as the beast, the Monster’s, jaw snaps back into place, crushing the boy near death.       
    It groans from ecstacy to itself, the blood from the boy gushing down his throat, leaving a feeling of warmth and ecstasy  behind.  
    The bones snap and break easily, like butter to the monster’s shark teeth.  
    Hearing a door close and steps, the monster leaves its mark behind.

               You left him alone. He is mine now.  
    Underneath the message, is the last of Chris, a mangled mess of bones, blood, and intestines, a heap on the ground as blood stains the floor, spreading.  
    It smiles, before melting into the shadows.

 

    “Time to find a new child.”


	8. Bunker 13

        I wasn't always homeless. I lost all of my money to drinking my despair away, after losing my wife Ashley. She died from breast cancer a few years back. I had given her the best funeral she could ask for, crying while making the plans. Our son, Christian Levi, didn't even show up. He didn't hear about Ashley's death until a few weeks later. He was busy fighting for our country.   
        I regret never saying bye, never even looking at my grandson one more time. Instead, I had gathered up all of my money, and ran. I tried to stay away from the depression, but soon it was drowning me with it's seducing hold of sorrow. No matter how hard I struggled, I just couldn't get away. Alcohol helped.  
        After I nearly got raped when I ran, I wrapped gauze around my breasts, wore men clothes that I stole from houses, and blended in. The dirt and who knows what else that covered my delicate features made the woman curves disappear from my lips, and nose. My eyebrows, not being plucked anymore, grew thicker and flatter, no curve.  
        My body grew stronger, my flat stomach growing taunt from not eating very often any more. No doubt, my ribs show under the gauze. I haven't eaten in a few days, but I make sure to drink water. I can go for a while without eating, but water is a must. My voice is hoarse as I walk to my newest shelter.  
          
        I'm lost.  
        I don't even know how I got here, the middle of the woods. It's nearly night. I was heading back to my place at around noon. Rain drips from moss covering the trees, my coat soaked from the rain that finally dissipated just a short bit ago. The rain was so heavy I couldn't see, so I stumbled around.  
        I turn in a circle, my stomach grumbling. I spot an old decrepit structure, nestled between trees and built into the side of a hill. I stumble closer, barely glancing at the spray paint on the side, by the door. An arrow points inside, with 'Free Hugs' above it. Frowning, I quietly make my way inside, glancing all around me.  
        This place gives me the creeps. Deciding against going in any farther, I slump against the wall, sliding down beside the open doorway. Opening my back pack, I pull out the small sleeping bag, ripping off my wet coat, laying it flat to dry a little bit, and wrap myself in the sleeping bag.  
        I curl into a tight ball, shutting my eyes tightly as the wind starts to howl. It pushes into the building I'm in, chilling me to the bone. Papers and leaves littering the floor get swept deeper into the pitch blackness. I have the feeling, though impossible, that if I shine a light into the abyss, nothing will light up.  
        The wind is a torture of it's own. The sky is midnight blue, the tree's blocking any light, if there is any. I shiver, not able to get warm due to the wind. Tearing open my eyes, I gather my coat, keeping the sleeping bag around my body, and dig for my flashlight in my back pack.  
        Taking out the small handheld device, I flick the switch. The light penetrates the darkness, showing curving halls in two different directions. Picking the left one, I amble down, slightly stumbling from the strong force of the wind. Thinking, I take the pink spray paint out of my bag, shaking it.  
        I spray a common symbol on the wall, the sign of the Aquarius, my sign. I continue on, making marks every fifty feet or so. The halls wind, some wide and circular, while others are hard to walk through normally, making me walk sideways for more room. I keep making the marks, determined not to lose myself in this place.  
        I'm confused as to why I'm even continuing. The intangible feeling of despair, and hatred from being abandoned thickens the more I go. I can hardly breath. The air is warm, thick and humid, dripping from up ahead. My throat clenches with a sudden thirst,  and I hurry along the claustrophobic hallway.  
        I fall onto my side when the tight hall stops suddenly. The floor is hard and cold, just like where I was huddled by  the entrance. The air is even thicker here, like I'm breathing in smoke. I breath heavily, then pause, hearing an odd sound. Like teeth grinding on teeth, or bone.  
        It sends earthquakes down my spine. I shudder, my body feeling weak and shaky all of a sudden. My heart drops to my stomach, my hands clammy and sticky. My stomach flips. My head swirls.  
        Why do I feel like this? I think to myself, terror clawing at my thoughts. The image of Ashley flits across my vision, then disappears. I push myself up, my hands digging into small, sharp pebbles. I hiss, brushing my hands off on my shirt. My sleeping bag is on the floor now, my backpack straps digging into my shoulders.  
        I shine my flashlight around the empty room. The walls are worse here than the halls. The paint is peeling, some parts of the concrete walls crumbling. Spider webs coat the corners, their small black bodies skittering around silently. I scowl, still not enjoying the company of eight legged creatures in the dark.  
        I notice something, under some of the paint. A border, jutting out slightly. The coat over it is a different shade to, just barely different. I step closer, but lift my foot up with a shriek when I hear something crunch. I shine the flashlight down, my heart beating rapidly.  
        A brittle bone crumbles where I stepped. Though I know barely anything about anatomy, the longer I stare, the more it looks to me like a human bone. Like the femur. I shine the flashlight around, searching for more. This is the only bone.  
        Carefully picking it up, a sharp feeling of dread piercing my heart. I nearly drop the bone. The pristine whiteness seems to radiate the start pureness. Cracks criss cross each other, some small, some reaching like clawed hands around the whole bone.  
        I look up at the part of the wall, jutting out by barely half an inch. maybe a fourth of an inch. I set the bone down, never moving the flashlight beam from the area. I move closer, glancing at the floor to make sure I don't step on anything I didn't notice before.  
        Standing directly in front of the place in the wall jutting out, I stare at the paint. It's peeling horrible, revealing metal underneath. Reaching out, I rip a piece off. It tugs free with little force, revealing more metal. I keep shucking pieces off, revealing more and more.  
        At about where the top of my head is, I peel off an exceptionally long piece of white paint. Under it, a small rectangular window is revealed. I stare at it, a frown adorning my features. Why is this here? Plus, isn't there supposed to be a piece of metal in the slot to close it?   
        Stand on my tip toes, only able to see through it if I do. The room inside is a dark abyss, even darker than what the bunker looked like from the entrance. I try in vain to look harder, trying to let my eyes adjust to the darkness of the area beyond this door without a knob.  
        Crack.  
        I jump, a squeal fighting it's way out of my throat, leaving my trembling lips. I shine the flashlight into the room, my ankles aching from being on my tiptoes for so long. I attempt to shine the flashlight into the pitch abyss.  
        I feel my eyes widen in horror, my mouth drooping. My eyes burn, unblinking. My throat aches, dry. I feel my body shaking from my very core, my heart beat slowing, then speeding up unbelievably fast, my chest ablaze with pain.  
        In the corner, a disgusting creature taps something repeatedly, it's body quivering. Bones are jutting out from it's skin. The Thing is stark naked, with translucent skin, blue veins covering their body. It's not human. There's no way it can be. It's impossible.  
        It's body is thin, like it's been starved for years. It should be dead, it would be. But that's what is looks like. Each vertebrate in the spine jut out grotesquely. The things legs are long, and hairless. Looking closer, squinting now, I realize there is no hair anywhere...Like a reptile...  
        It's feet end with white claws, as translucent as the monsters skin. I finally draw in a breath, rasping for airs in my scalding lungs. It pauses the tapping, like a woodpecker pecking at a dead tree. It straightens it's back, before turning.  
        Before I realize it, I'm screaming. My lungs yell for air, not yet pleased. I belt out as loud as I can. The abomination's face. It's small and round, but instead of having a normal nose and lips, it grows out into a long beak, like doctors wore during the plague. Instead of pupils, pure white orbs stare at me from the sides of it's head.  
        I stumble back, falling onto the cold ground. The bone digs into my side. My flashlight spins away from me, clattering as it goes. The light flashes bright and suddenly, a headache spreading in my temples. I groan, pain flashing from my ankle, pulsing. I look up from my ankle when something clatters near my feet. I pick it up.  
        It's the carcass of a dog.   
        I cry out, throwing it away from me. The carcass is torn apart, like it was eaten by vultures. Hearing a creak, I look up to see the door barely opening, the paint breaking and fluttering to the floor. My heart stops when the disgusting abominations hand reaches out, the fingers each twice as long as a normal humans. They too end in translucent claws. I scream, shutting my eyes tightly.  
        Scrambling up, ignoring the pain in my ankle that makes me want to cry, I grasp my flashlight and slide into the narrow hallway, feeling the creatures claws feather across my cheek. I scramble along faster, nearly falling yet again when I break out into open halls.  
        Hearing scraping behind me, I focus my flashlight ahead, and run, following my marks.  
        My breathing is labored from pure terror and exhaustion by the time I see the exit. I haven't paused, not even for a second. I don't want to. It scares me to. I race out of the opening, the sun harsh on my eyes. I nearly cry out from the pain.  
        A headache blooms, all across my head. I struggle to continue onward, but somehow I do. I keep running, my lungs feeling like they're shriveling up and my legs feel like they have knives being stabbed into them. My feet ache like I step onto glass every stride I take.  
        Yet I continue on. It's nearly night when I finally give up. Whatever that thing is, it was there for a reason. Someone trapped it there for a reason. They kept it hidden, behind a door, and paint, in a bunker hidden from society.  
        I collapse, knowing with some primal instinct that it will find me. It may not be soon, but it will find me. I just don't know what it will do. I shut my eyes, gasping for air. the cold wind feels amazing on my sweaty skin. My rough, dirty hair tangles even more. I open my eyes again, hearing an odd call from afar, like an animal being skinned alive.  
        I know it's the monster. And I know he's coming for me. Right now.

        And I can't get away.


	9. Ghoulish

Matrix crawls out of the shadows, her hair raised on her arms, goose bumps crawling on her skin. She can nearly feel the blood running down her chin and in her throat, the pure pleasure... riveting. She needs to eat… It’s been so...so… long since she has. Her stomach twists in pain, her tongue thick and dry, her teeth throbbing at the gums.  
Her ribs poke out of her chest, like a starved animal. A disgustingly grotesque starved animal. Her greasy burgundy hair falls in front of her eyes, shadowing her once angelic face. The locks are stuck together, tangles intertwined like thick ropes. She continues to sneak forward, the dumpster beside her masking any putrid odor radiating from her body in thick intangible waves.  
Her naturally tanned skin ghastly, making her look sickened, to the point that she looks more dead than alive. Her teeth are rotted, plaque crawling and staining the once bright white teeth she used to have, so long ago. Some are chipped, a few even missing from the sides and back.  
Her breath reeks of alcohol, which she uses to get her mind off of the intense hunger that constantly racks her body. It’s hard for her to describe the volume of her hunger anymore. It’s been nearly three weeks since she has eaten. Yet she remains strong, watching the humans , out of reach, from the darkness.  
It's a pain that starts inside and way below her throat, in her shrunken stomach. It’s always pulling its way upward, slowly at a snail's pace, creeping closer to her throat. It hurts her.  
No, it warns Matrix. It warns her about her imminent death, and threatens that it will be slow... all the while grabbing at the insides of her body and pulling itself within its intangible body it’s until it gets what it’s craving for.  
As if on cue, a man walks by, but this time, he’s not as aware as the women with tight clothes, if you can call them that, who strut around like birds. He carries a dark brown briefcase by his side, his black high-end suit contrasting luridly with his navy blue tie. He has short dark brown hair, though she can't see his eyes, nor his facial features. Matrix eases herself forward when he pauses, ringing sounding from the left pocket in his pants.  
He takes out his cell phone, answers, and presses it to his ear. “Hello?” He starts, then pauses. “Yes, this is Abraham.” Matrix ignores the rest of his conversation, concentrating on making herself silent as she slithers towards his unsuspecting form. Her lithe figure, like that of a powerful pantheress, moves closer to him. He never hears her approaching, never hears her breath quickening in excitement for a meal at long last.  
He looks around the street, watching cars go by to go to their night shift at work or to their warm, happy home, anywhere but this dangerous neighborhood. Matrix watches, though a part of her, buried beneath it all, cries out in desperation to be set free from the curse that plagues her. The chains locking it away, in the bottom of her heart, hold strong, through they rattle inaudibly.  
Her hunger intensifies, Matrix’s mouth watering to the point it escapes her mouth and rolls down her chin, and down onto her throat, to her dirty collarbone. Her tongue no longer feels thick and dry, instead it feels moist and fits in her mouth, while before it felt like it couldn’t. Her stomach is an empty black hole, with a planet to devour just out of her reach, no matter how close she gets. Always orbiting around her until at last, she moves out of the way.  
The man finally glimpses her in his peripheral vision and swings towards her just as she lunges for him. The street is clear of people now, except for a dying old man sitting in his box across the street. He’s asleep, or possibly dying.  
Abraham, seeing the disfigured human flying towards him, swings his heavy suitcase straight at her face. She screeches, flailing backwards. Her skin is ghastly looking, her bones jutting out grotesquely. Though Matrix forces herself not to show it, he knows she’s weak.  
He, the manager at Guminic Co., Abraham Hasle, bashes her head against the alleyway ground, a wet sounding thud following as he repeats it a few times to ensure she stays unconscious. He’s done this quite a few times, he knows how to keep people weak.  
♦♦♦♦♦  
By the time she wakes up, he’s already locked her in a cage, and is now whistling as he trudges around in the dark basement. Her vision is blurry, yet her eyes trail after the tall, lanky man. As if sensing her glowering stare, he turns and stalks towards her like a wolf towards a weak, dying rabbit.  
“There comes a time, in every single person's life, where there must be a… sacrifice… Don’t worry, little… Blyth. I’ll call you Blyth until I force you to utter your name. I won’t break you unless I need to break you... Unless you deserve to be broken... I need you to question every small, minuscule, insignificant thing you have done with your disgusting life.” Abraham whispers to her, his disturbing, twisted grin sending earthquakes down her spine.  
Matrix, now named Blyth, named like a disgusting dog,  crawls back, until her spine is lodged in between the bars in the back of the cage. She grabs an empty bottle, lying empty in the cage, and throws it at him. It shatters against the metal rods caging her in, showering down like brown rain. The glass twinkles in the dim lighting.  
“Yes, throw the bottle in anger, in terror. If you listen closely, Blyth, you can hear the blood rushing in my veins, carrying insanity with it. Now, Blyth or what you choose to be called, I’m a man of considerable patience. And you, Blyth, I don’t care how much time it takes, how much blood you, or I, shed, I will own you. I will break all of your mental barriers down, and I will own you.  
“I’m thinking that maybe, maybe, I haven’t gotten the thought inside of that hideous little head of yours.” Abraham lowers his body, crouching so he stares straight into Matrix’s cloudy, brown, terror filled eyes.  
“You aren’t leaving until I break you.”  
♦♦♦♦♦  
Only mere hours later, her body burns with blistering agony. She feels as if the pain that ripples over her is like an ocean, it comes and goes with waves, bringing new ripples of throbbing torment. She no longer feels as if she’s breathing, though she endures the shooting, quivering pain that fills her lungs as oxygen does.  
In, out. Pause, whine in the pure white agony ripping through out her being. In, out. Repeat. Her labored breath stops abruptly, as the steps echo in the musty, chilly room. Her swelled throat does not allow her to make a sound above a whisper of noise.  
“Baa baa black sheep…” Abraham quietly hums, his voice carrying the tunes throughout the room. Blyth forces her tender, aching vocal cords to work. The only sound she can create is slightly louder than that of a whispered scream.  
“Have you any voice?”Abraham continues, slowing his pace as he stalks towards the metal cage in the middle of the basement. He takes in a quiet breath, his eerie, deep voice chilling.  
“No sir, no sir, have you any love?” Abraham pauses, running a hand against the cage as he walks around it. Blyth whimpers, her eyes barely having the strength to follow him as he circles around her like a lion to a lamed gazelle.  
“None for the wife, none for the child, and none for the bleeding girl, in a cage.” Abraham walks towards the cage door, unlocks it, and swings it open. He points to his feet, ordering her like some idiotic dog to grovel at his feet.  
Matrix hisses at him, spitting out saliva like a feral feline. Impatiently, Abraham reaches his thick haired arm into the cage, his suit cuffs pulled up past his elbows. The blood coating his hands reaches up past his wrist, still moist from the little hours before.  
Her screams still seem to reverberate about the room, fueling his blood lust like gasoline to a roaring fire. Goosebumps of pleasure raise on his skin, his hair standing on end as he seizes her oily dark burgundy hair. She whimpers, hair thin arms reaching up to claw his forearms as he hauls her out of the small door.  
“Blyth, be a precious pet, don’t scratch.” Abraham mutters darkly, his shadowed ice blue eyes probing deeply into her own clouded eyes. Matrix hisses again, angrily and weakly trying to squirm away from him.  
“Blyth, I said to stop.” He rears his fist back, digging the brass knuckles she never noticed hard into her abdomen. She cries out feebly, her breath torn from her lungs, leaving them screaming for oxygen as her head swims, her vision blurring her surroundings.  
Her hands, that were just clawing at Abraham’s arm, droop to the floor as he drags her farther out and to the examination table.  Her hair throbs in pain, though the amount is minuscule compared to the rest of her never ending pain. Though he had tortured her for hours, manically, he didn’t wish for her to truly die. He wanted a pet with a need that surpassed the thirst for water for his aching throat.  
Strapping her ankles and her forehead securely to ensure she can’t get away, he grabs the tote of medical supplies and yanks it over to her, blood dripping steadily, but slowly,  from her numerous wounds scattered all over her frail body.  
Before searching for the gauze, he pours alcohol on her cuts, finding joy from her shrieking howls of pain. Unpacking gauze, he wraps it around her arm, a few inches above her wrist. When he looks up, he flashes her a brief smile that taunts her to the brink of blacking out.  
The smile hints about all he has done in the past, and what he will do to her. As her eyes snap shut, he chuckles in dark relief, glad he won’t have to harm her more to keep her still so he can stop the bleeding. Due to the various wounds he inflicted, it takes nearly an hour to wrap her in gauze and pour alcohol on her to make sure the deep cuts, and burns that masks her skin, get infected.  
In the long run, Abraham knows he will be able to use her to his advantage.  It may take weeks, just days, or even months. Abraham guessed only a few days. She was nearly broken to begin with. He grabs a hammer off of the rack by her side, and moves closer to her hand right hand, raising the blunt weapon above his head.

Abraham’s guess was correct. Blyth finally screamed her name, and begged him to stop as he tortured her yet again, dragging the small kama down her taunt stomach, just enough to break the skin. Her stomach was quivering from the immense fear engulfing her. She had given up. Patches of the pale, ghastly skin was missing on her arm, flopped on the ground, covered in blood.  
The victory that flooded through his veins was a thousand times greater than it was with his last pet, Jenny. He unstrapped her, whispering congratulations to himself. After nearly getting caught, his heart pumps with a joyous ferocity, knowing he can get back to his coworker. Abraham thought back to when he was nearly caught, still pulling Matrix out of the straps.  
Victor, one of his coworkers, had spotted a few drops of blood on his pristine white suit cuff prior that day, when Abraham had walked into the office. After being questioned, Abraham had slyly came up with a lie.  
“I was cooking breakfast. I like pork chops sometimes. I don’t get dinner that often.”  
Victor had shrugged, believing him. Why would such a charming and happy guy go around at night and kill people? He’s not some hoodlum, Victor had reminded himself as he turned and walked away, going back to his office to answer boring calls all day.  
Pulling the filthy thing up, now to be called Matrix, Abraham brings himself to the present just as she growls and digs her disgusting teeth into his wrist. Blood drips from the creases, soon spurting out into her mouth.  
As Abraham lets out a cry of alarm and pain, Matrix herself is fueled by her primitive instincts. She digs her teeth deeper, flesh shredding off, veins getting stuck between her teeth. Blood  floods down her throat like a thick, crimson waterfall.  
The cry breaks any composure she once had, her nails growing into claws, though they stay cracked, and their yellowish color. She digs her claws into his thigh, blood coating her hands. Her instincts scream for more, voices drowning her in the deafening shrieks.  
Matrix yanks her head back, ignoring the yelps and screams of protest and intense pain fleeing from Abraham’s open mouth, his eyes wide, tears running shamefully down his cheeks. Her stomach roars to life, like fire as seven gallons of gasoline is poured onto it.  She moans at the feeling of the thick, warm blood running down her throat, the small sound echoing throughout the soundproof basement.  
Abraham’s struggles become more frantic with the terrifying thoughts of his own death that whirlpool in his head. He rapidly pounds his remaining fist on her back, hearing several cracks as he does. His thoughts are immersed in the thought of death and the throbbing, shooting pain that grows like an uncontrollable wildfire. The pain that hits him like a tsunami grows, faster that his screams rise.  
Matrix pushes Abraham over, who sobs pitifully, like a dog beaten by its master. It was too much pain for him. His body wants to be free, the only escape to get away. He shuts his eyes tightly, brokenly hoping that it would stop the pain, or make the monster, Matrix, go away. For a fleeting second, as fast as a blink, Abraham is overcome with pity. Pity to thick to breathe through. It surrounds him in an ice cold embrace, clawing at his heart, digging into his chest. The fear and pain, though intangible and nonexistent, seems to be forcing him to relive all of the torture he has ever operated.  
Lyli Adams, who was fresh out of college. He was only around twenty five. That was a while ago, around nine years. He acted like he had fallen in love with her, following her around like a lovesick mutt. Eventually, Lyli was broken by him as well. He didn’t ruin her body as much as with the one before her, which had been his first. He can’t remember her name.  
Jane Willis, an eight year old with twin ponytails. Her smile was too innocent. He remembers her sobs, so light, yet heavy with dread and pain. He had broken her ankles, then starved her for days. When she finally was desperate enough, she was forced to walk to a plate of warm steaming food. Later he had beaten it out of her. She was so easy to break.  
Mia, though her whole name was Amelia Moore, was one of his favorites. Her eyes never lost the spark that he so badly wanted to disappear. So, he made it. She took the longest of them all, nearly four months. He, as a punishment for taking so long, tore them out. As she sobbed bloody tears, unable to comprehend the measure of pain she was experiencing, Abraham had stood above her, a cruel, dark, and twisted grin on his face.  
Over the span of nearly seven years, after breaking their cognitive function, seventeen girls at died at his hands. He would brutally slaughter the girl he chose, after enough time to ruin their mental state. He usually took hours, finding new ways to produce more pain. The guilt crowds into his being. He starts sobbing from the fear, the pain, and countless emotions Abraham has rarely felt before.  
Matrix continues digging her hands deeper, blood coating her disgusting ragged clothes. The pain that he’s no doubt experiencing sends earthquakes down her pain, not ones of fear, but of riveting pleasure. She grins, her cracked teeth covered in red. Her stomach is aching, though she keeps gorging herself.  
Even after the man's eyes are dim, the cries mute and no longer erupting from his mouth, no blood flowing out of his mouth, and his face frozen with an unmoving look of pain plastered onto his features, she still stuffs his flesh into her mouth. She rips open his shirt, digging into the soft skin and flesh on his stomach.  
The blood is still warm, sending goose bumps dancing over her skin, her hair raising straight up. She rips the flesh apart, digging deeper into his abdomen. Blood splashes onto the already blood stained floor, more than half splashing onto her disgusting soot covered rags.  
Matrix eats, tearing his intestines out, wrapping them around his throat just for the joy of it. She feels elated at his death, by her own bloody hands, with her broken, cracked nails. She claws out his lungs, and  heart, throwing them at the wall and watching as they thump against the wall with a grotesque, wet smacking sound, though to her it sounds better than any sort of music.  
The blood is cold, she notices, finally, informing Matrix of the hours she has lost devouring his body. There’s barely any left of Abraham his abdomen and chest hollow, her chin dripping the thick red liquid onto the floor, into the huge puddle. Matrix finds the strength to stand easily, reinvigorated by the flesh she had feasted upon for nearly a whole day.  
Matrix stares down at the man who had caused her so much pain, not even bothering to feel any sort of emotion. His intestines cover the floor, ripped out of him in blind, savage hunger. She eyes his throat, which she had sadistically torn out his esophagus. Blood cakes his surrounding neck and collarbone.

 

Finally she notices, after so long, she’s full.  
 


End file.
